Brother Mine (A Mycroft Holmes Story based on The Abominable Bride)
by throughtheparadox
Summary: I just have a lot of feelings about the a Christmas Special and Mycroft just made me cry. Who would have thought, right?


"Mike, where is your brother?"

Mycroft sighed, closing his book as he headed to his brother's bedroom. He stopped, noticing the mud on the foot of the door, thinking that iit's over./i

He tried to keep his face straight, his emotions at bay, his hands from trembling. He had to do this. He had to keep up with this... facade.

Sherlock proved to be exceptional at such a young age. Started even much more younger than Mycroft. But he didn't want his little brother to be exceptional. He wanted him to be normal.

An epitome of perfection and level-headedness-such a horrifying standard a child must hold onto his head-but Mycroft simply looked at the situation as an honour. One cannot help but accept one's own capabilities. But he never wanted to share the title with his brother knowing that such a label also came with the word 'freak' in bold letters.

But Sherlock looked up to his older brother. They shared the same wavelength, the same perceptions and they simply understood each other. Of course Mycroft hated this. He wanted his brother to be accepted, to be normal, to be free. At that, he made his decision.

He made his brother hate him. Slowly. Painfully. Until it was done.

That couldn't take away his brother's brilliance though. Despite Mycroft's efforts, Sherlock became a brother that he was absolutely proud of. However, he could see his brother's pain everytime he gets casted out. And so another painful decision must be done.

He had to take away his heart.

But circumstances had fallen to place and one fateful day, Sherlock's only friend-the one he turned to when the entire world including his brother pushes him away-also left.

Redbeard.

An accident took the life of his trusted companion and Sherlock blamed the emotions clouding his mind that led to such tragic events.

Mycroft walked away. His brother needed to mourn. And yet, something tells him that he needed to open the door.

All the lights were turned off with only the brightness from the streetlamps seeping through the window giving outline to the room.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft called, entering the room with caution.

"Go away." he heard, his brother's voice sounding rather hoarse. At last, he found him on the floor by the side of the bed, curled into a ball with a syringe laying by his head.

Mycroft felt a stabbing pain in his chest as the light hit his little brother's face, eyes brimming red from both crying and intoxication. He ran to him, losing the stoicism he was trying to put up earlier and in his eyes were tears.

"What have you done? What have you done to yourself, Sherlock?" He asked, taking his brother in his arms, disgustingly looking at the syringe.

Sherlock pushed him away, groggy eyes trying to decipher his brother's expression.

"What did you take? You have to tell me now, Sherlock." Mycroft pleaded, his body shaking violently now, from both worry and desperation.

"I... I'm not as stupid as you think, Mycroft. I calculated the dosage... just enough to... take away the pain." Sherlock mumbled, still writhing away from his brother. Mycroft let him go.

"Where did you even get this?" Mycroft asked, tucking his fingers under his folded arms to stop the shaking.

"The world is not as perfect and as righteous as you, you know. People are sellouts." Sherlock spat.

Mycroft looked at his brother's lying form, his mind flashing with all the words he used to spite him, to drive him away, to make him into this.

"Run now and tell everyone how much of a failure I am. Isn't this the opportunity you have been waiting for?" Sherlock hissed.

Mycroft bit back tears and just sat by his brother's side in the darkness. Sherlock would never listen to him if he asked him to stop so he chose what he would say. Wrong words, yes, but words that would make his brother commit.

"I wouldn't rat you out, brother mine. Think of this as a... truce of some sorts. You can go on your little escapades and I will cover for you as much as I can..." the words pour out of his mouth, each tasting like poison.

"But?" Sherlock slurred.

Mycroft smiled. Despite everything, Sherlock understood and knew him more than anyone.

"But... you must always, no matter where you are, what time or part of the world your in, any nook and cranny you find yourself in, you would give me a list of every single thing you take. A list, Sherlock, of everything." he whispered, his hands holding his sides as if he was trying to physically hold himself in place.

He saw Sherlock nod, eyes far away. Mycroft was about to stand up when he heard Sherlock murmuring.

"Everyone leaves me. Everyone pushes me away. I don't need anyone anymore. I'm alone. I'm alone. Bye Redbeard. I'm now truly alone."

Mycroft felt a tear rush down his cheek. He wiped it off angrily, mostly at himself, then he knelt by Sherlock, brushing a loose curl off his brother's forehead, noticing that he had fallen asleep.

"I wasn't here for you before but now I'm here. I'll always be here for you." he whispered, before carrying his little brother to bed, closing the door behind him as he left.


End file.
